Chapter 23 #3
She lifted a hand, not to silence him cruelly, but to spare them both another word they could not bear.
“I do not know what I shall want tomorrow,” she said, “Perhaps I shall want to hear you again. Perhaps I shall not. But this is what I shall do tonight.”
“I will see you home,” he said hoarsely.
“You will not,” she said, “You will let me go.”
For a moment, she thought he would refuse, for pride’s sake, or penance’s. But the man she had begun to love was in him too, and that man understood that love sometimes stands still while it wants to chase. He bowed his head once.
“As you wish,” he said.
She went.
The corridor felt colder than it had an hour before. Elinor walked with her to the front.
The carriage was waiting outside for them.
Thomas tipped his hat, eyes gentle. “Your Grace.”
“To Havenford,” she said. Her voice shook only on the second syllable.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
A footman handed her in. Elinor tucked the lap rug over her knees as if warmth could be persuaded to stay simply by being asked nicely.
“Will you…” Elinor began, then stopped.
“I will send for you in the morning,” Maria said, “Or you may stay. But I would much prefer if you came.”
The door shut. The carriage jolted forward.
And now she finally had the space to cry.
Every plan she had built in the warm, private theater of her mind gave a small bow and exited. She let them go.
Perhaps she could still find happiness. But not, it seemed, with the shape she had thought it would take.
He loves me, she thought, with a bewildered clarity. He loves me and does not know how to stop loving what broke him.
Underneath the sorrow, anger stirred again. He had made a promise that put a hand over her future’s mouth. He had not made it to God or to her; he had made it to a man who had turned love into a weapon.
The carriage rolled to a halt before the familiar stone steps of her brother’s estate. Maria’s heart thudded in her chest as she stepped down, clutching her cloak tight around her shoulders.
It was too late for visits, and she could already imagine the confusion her sudden return would cause. Before she could gather her thoughts, the front door opened. Violet stood in the doorway, wrapped hastily in a shawl.
“Maria?” Her voice was startled, “What on earth…”
Then she stopped, and her expression changed the instant she saw the tears streaking Maria’s face. Without another word, she hurried down the steps.
“Oh, my dear,” Violet whispered, reaching her. “Come inside, quickly, before you freeze.”
Maria wanted to protest, to explain, but her throat tightened around the words. She let herself be led through the door.
Violet closed the door behind them and took Maria’s hands, “You don’t have to say a thing right now.
“I shouldn’t have come like this,” Maria managed, her voice breaking. “At this hour. Nicholas…”
“Is still awake,” Violet said quietly. “And even if he weren’t, I would have woken him. You are family, and you don’t need an invitation to come home.”
“He’ll ask what happened. As will you.”
Violet gave a faint smile. “We might, eventually. But not tonight.” She brushed a damp curl away from Maria’s cheek.
Maria swallowed hard, tears slipping silently down her chin. Violet guided her further inside, past the candlelit staircase and toward the drawing room.
“Sit,” Violet said, steering her gently toward the nearest chair. “I’ll fetch tea. And you will drink it, no arguments.”
Maria nodded, though her gaze drifted to the fire. Violet returned with a blanket draped over one arm and set a steaming cup in front of her. She didn’t ask again what had happened. Instead, she sat beside Maria, close enough that their shoulders touched.
For a long while, neither spoke. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the fire and the clock ticking softly from the hall.
When Violet finally did speak, her voice was almost maternal. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me tonight, Maria. You need only rest.”
“You’re too kind to me.”
“Nonsense,” Violet said, smoothing a wrinkle from the blanket. “Kindness is what family is for. Tomorrow, if you wish, you can tell me everything. Or nothing at all. Either will do.”
Maria’s eyes filled again. She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t form.
Violet reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “You are safe here. That’s all that matters tonight.”
Maria nodded.
When Nicholas finally appeared, Violet only shook her head once, a quiet warning. “Tomorrow,” she mouthed.
Nicholas looked from his wife to his sister, and though confusion lined his face, he said nothing. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Maria’s shoulder and then turned away, leaving them to their quiet.
Maria stared into the fire until her vision blurred. The warmth began to seep back into her fingers, and the exhaustion she had held at bay descended like a heavy fog.
Violet stayed until Maria’s breathing slowed, until her tears dried. Then she whispered, “You’ll be all right, my dear. Just not tonight.”
And Maria, for the first time since leaving the estate, allowed herself to believe it.